


I Feel So Small

by Maliex



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, First Time, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:50:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 19,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maliex/pseuds/Maliex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond may yet destroy Q.  And he doesn't even seem to be trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is up on my Tumblr, with the same url. It seemed to be liked there, so I'm putting it up on here. Hope you enjoy.

Q watches Bond walk away. It's the usual swagger, the agent with his hands in his pockets, smug smile firmly in place. 

But he's still walking away. 

Q turns back to his laptop, smile from their shared banter gone. His fingers drifted over the keyboard. He doesn't know why he does this to himself.

Moneypenny was approaching now, pausing to talk to Bond at the door. They're both smiling, flirting, and Q pushes down the sting. He doesn't know why Moneypenny chose this. He was trapped here, weighed down by wires and metal and data. His mind too big for his body. He thought he'd be satisfied, here.

Bond finally leaves, and Moneypenny walks up to him, smiling warmly, folder in her hands. He tries to smile back, but when her smile fades, he know he hasn't succeeded.

He's not even surprised anymore.

She tilts her head, gaze concerned. “Are you all right, Q?”

He gives his smile another shot. “Perfectly fine, thank you, Moneypenny. Is there something I can do for you?”

She's frowning now, and he knew that this attempt was a failure too. “Q, I can see you're not okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

Q feels his gaze flicker towards the door. Which it shouldn't have done. Gave everything away. This was why he was here, and people like Bond and Moneypenny were out there.

Trained agent that she is, she catches it. She looks towards the door, confused, but then she gets it. She looks at him more closely. “It's not...is it Bond?”

Q tries to return his attention back to his laptop. “It's nothing.”

Moneypenny isn't convinced. She's examining him, and he fights not to let everything show.

“He's not doing anything to you, is he? I mean, I'm aware of how he can be, but I thought you two got on? You make an excellent team. Is there a problem between you two?”

Q's shoulders sag. “No. There's no problem. As you said, we make an excellent team. Where exactly would the problem lie?” He tries to keep his tone light, smile at her, but he's not fooling anyone.

“Q,” she says softly. She's giving him a soft look, sympathetic, and of course, she can see right through him.

He shakes his head. “It's nothing. Nothing that will affect our work. There's no need to worry.”

Moneypenny sighs at him, looking a touch less sympathetic and more exasperated now. “It's not your work I'm worried about,” she says sternly.

That takes him aback a little. Of all things, he wasn't expecting that.

She must catch how his eyes have widened, as she softens again. “Do you want to talk about it? You can come to my place, after work. I'm willing to listen.”

Q doesn't know how to respond to that. He licks his lips, trying to figure out what the appropriate response is. He can't find one.

Moneypenny gives him a firm look. “You're coming over. If you don't, I know where to find you.”

He gives her huge, innocent eyes, and she laughs at that.

After that, it's all talk of missions and work, and Q sinks back into the rhythm of things. And if the thought of a certain double-oh pops into his head every now and then? Well, he's used to it by now.

Doesn't stop it hurting though.

 

Moneypenny's apartment is warm and cosy, very well suited to her. It's also very neat, and Q feels conspicuously out of place on her sofa, his hair every which way, cardigan lopsided. But he knows his manners, and thanks her as she hands him a cup of Earl Grey.

He didn't even know she had Earl Grey.

Moneypenny sits back, tucking her feet underneath her, and fixes him with a look. “So. Talk.”

Q gazes resolutely into his cup. “About what?” he asks.

She doesn't buy it. “Bond.”

He deflates. He doesn't want to. Doesn't want to talk about this at all. He glances up at her, and she looks genuinely concerned now, all soft eyes and warmth.

Q doesn't know where to start. “I thought I'd be happy,” he finds himself saying.

He doesn't know where it's come from, or how to continue. He doesn't know an alarming amount of things, these days.

Moneypenny, or Eve as he should be calling her at the moment, just tries to look encouraging. “Go on,” she says gently.

Q takes a sip, trying to find words for what's been hollowing him out from the inside.

“I thought that my life, being Q, the quartermaster, the behind-the-scenes man, would be fine. That it was all I wanted. I thought I'd be more than comfy, sitting at a laptop with my tea, world at my fingertips. But then he... I suppose I changed. One can only blame outside influences so much. The change has been within me. I'm what's different.”

“Outside influences,” repeats Eve. “Bond.”

It's not even a question. Q nods, hands wrapped around the cup. “That's right. It was...frustrating. I've read his file, all of it, which is no easy thing, which you know, of course you do, but I-”

He takes a breath, a fortifying sip.

Eve waits patiently.

“Meeting someone in person is always different from just reading about them. I know that. I've managed it perfectly fine before. You, the old M, the new one. But 007...”

He closes his eyes, and he can see Bond before him, smirking, tall and confident and solid. Immoveable. Irresistible. Both the opposing forces combined in one.

“Suddenly, I didn't feel enough. Like I was enough. I've always been good enough before, been perfectly content with who I am, what I do. But looking at him, I mean, talking to him. It's maddening.”

Suddenly he has to put the cup down, finds a space on Eve's table. He puts the cup down, and brings his hands up to his face, fingers sliding up under his glasses to press at his eyes.

“He talks to me,” he says, muffled slightly in the palm of his hands. “But he doesn't... I'm not, I'm not someone, to him. I'm...just a letter. Just Q. The quartermaster. Someone who gives him things, then reprimands him for loosing them. I don't register to him, other than that. And it's destroying me.”

He hears Eve shift, movement from the sofa she's on, but he shakes his head. “It's entirely ridiculous. I'm aware of this. But it- It's making me want to be a field agent. Making me want to be something other than what I actually am, and I can't, I know I can't. I am Q. I am the Quartermaster of MI6.”

Something in that strengthens him. He lets his hands fall to his lap. 

Eve is quiet, and he looks at her, offers a small smile. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “It seems I did need to talk about it.”

She doesn't look like she thinks he's any better though, mouth turned down. She swallows, licks her lips. “I...I'm sorry, Q. I don't think he goes in for men. I hadn't... I didn't realise you...that you felt that way.”

He shakes his head, sitting back up. “It's all right. I'm aware that he'll never look at me that way. And I actually feel better now. What I said is true. I am who I am, and that is Q. Trying to change myself for the attention of some hopped up double-oh is both foolhardy and impossible, at best. I believe I'll be all right, now.”

Eve doesn't look convinced, but she works up a smile for him. It's a lot better than when he tries. “You're right. You're perfectly brilliant as you are, Q.”

Q picks up his cup and toasts her with it. “To being one's self.”

 

“I have a surprise for you, Q.”

He doesn't look up from his laptop, pleased to find that his usual desire to turn round and look at Bond instantly is muted this morning. “If it's that you've returned one of your weapons intact, that will be a surprise indeed, 007.”

A hand bearing one of his coded Walthers appears in front of him, scratched, dirty, but in one piece. He feels inordinately pleased.

“Ah, excellent,” he says, taking it from Bond's relaxed grip, resisting the temptation to prolong the contact. “Does it still work?”

“Indeed it does.” Bond moves to stand round beside him, and Q almost spares a moment to wonder why exactly the agent was standing directly behind him in the first place, but his focus is on the gun in his hand. He fits it into his own hand, and watches, pleased, as two of the lights come up green.

“Excellent, excellent,” he hums. “Not in perfect condition, but easily repairable. I am astonished, 007.”

He looks up to smile at Bond, and is surprised to find Bond staring at him, brow furrowed. He raises his eyebrows. “Problem, Bond?”

Bond tilts his head towards the gun. “I thought it was coded to my grip only.”

There's a note of disapproval to his voice, and Q tuts at him.

“Really, Bond. Firstly, these weapons are my make, and I would intensely dislike being unable to use them. Secondly, I like to at least test them before I send them out into the world with an agent's life in the balance. And thirdly, it may have escaped your notice Bond, but I don't exactly get out often, so I don't know why you're worried.”

He was rather hoping Bond would stop frowning at him, possibly smile. But instead his frown has deepened.

How vexing.

Bond glances down at the gun again, and then back up. “So, you mean to tell me you hand test all the guns you send out?”

Ah. Damn. Um. “Not at all. Just the print coded ones. I don't have all that much time, 007.”

If he was hoping that would dissuade Bond from his line of questioning, it seems he had another thing coming.

“And how many, Q,” says Bond, all gravel smooth, the bastard, “Are print coded?”

Q focuses on the gun, hoping to put up a work front. “Not all that many, obviously.”

Not many at all, actually. Bond is the only one who gets them. But he's really really hoping to avoid that bit of information ever reaching Bond.

To his relief, Bond changes tack, to a degree. “I must admire your dedication, Q. But would it not be better to get an actual marksman to test the guns? Someone who knows what he's doing?”

Q gives Bond a very cool look, unsurprised to see that Bond has settled back into their usual sparring games, smiling smugly at him.

He lifts an eyebrow. “And what, 007, makes you think that I do not know what I'm doing?”

Bond shrugs, casual, looking away as he leans on the tall desk. “Well, not exactly your area of expertise, is it Q? Real guns are somewhat different from those in video games.”

Q continues to just look at Bond as he beckons two of his aides over. He only turns away once they get there.

He hands one of them the gun. “Get this cleaned, fix it if you can. If not, leave it for me to do.”

He steps back from his computer and waves at it to the other aide. “Continue with this. Let me know if anything comes up. I'll be in the firing range.”

Bond is full on smirking at him now, pleased to have goaded him into a challenge he's certain Q will fail.

Well, he has another thing coming.

 

As they walk together, Q feels a little proud of himself, and makes a note to have something nice sent to Moneypenny. If this had happened a couple of days ago, he'd have been working himself into a proper state at the moment. As it is, the small swell of hope he feels is perfectly manageable.

He can do this. And up Bond's with a rusty fork.

Hah.

Bond moves up to get to the door to the armoury before Q, and then ceremoniously pulls it open, bowing with an elegant gesture. Q takes it with all dignity, chin held high as he sweeps through.

It's empty, and Q doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Now something could happen, and that's exactly what he's worried about.

Also, the fact that something could happen, but probably won't. He fixes his gaze on the wall of guns, trying to pull himself out of the drag of depression. He was doing so well.

Under Bond's cool gaze, he selects a plain Glock, checking the clip and chamber with ease. He looks up, arching his eyebrow, asking a silent question.

Bond purses his lips. “Well, it seems you aren't at a complete loss then.”

Q gives him a withering look, and steps up to the mark. He dons the glasses and earmuffs, and steadies himself, lifting the gun.

Bond's a fool. Sometimes.

It's easy to slip into that white noise necessary for him to shoot. The gun's weight is familiar, comfortable. This is going to be perfect.

He fires off six shots.

He smiles.

Q pulls off the earmuffs, takes the glasses off. He looks at Bond.

Bond is frowning at the target.

Q looks back at it. Six shots ring the heart. He can do better, he knows, group the shots more tightly. But he felt like something neat.

Bond is looking at him now, and Q raises his eyebrows.

“Really, 007. I'm the Quartermaster. Which means I'm a weapons expert. Obviously, I favour cyber weaponry, but it doesn't make me any less of a marksman. Even out of video games.”

He turns away, replaces the gun on the wall. He's pleased with himself, for his ability to surprise Bond and his good shooting, if nothing else.

Dusting off his hands, Q turns back. And stills.

Bond is examining him. Thoroughly. As in, is genuinely looking at him.

Seeing him.

Q doesn't know what to do.

Once again, this is becoming frighteningly common.

Bond finally pushes off the wall he was leaning against and comes towards him. Q knows better than to back up, knows how to deal with Bond, except this is an entirely new situation and he's a little lost. Couldn't Bond have stayed over there?

Bond stops alarmingly close, right in his personal space. Which, granted, is perhaps a little bigger than most peoples, but he is a genius, he has rights to be eccentric.

He tries to hide the fact that he needs to swallow, but fails miserably as Bond's gaze flicks down to where his adams apple bobs above his collar.

“Something you require, 007?” he asks, all too aware of the way his voice is not quite level.

Bond brings his gaze back up again, pausing momentarily on Q's mouth, which is...

He wishes he knew.

“I wouldn't say require, Q. More, I would like.”

Bond's voice is frustratingly gravel deep, and Q struggles with himself. He wants to step back away from Bond. He's figured everything out, he was settling down, he had got over this infuriating man. So why was all this happening now?

He doesn't step back.

“Would like what, exactly, Bond?”

Lips turning up at the corner, Bond leans in a little closer. “I think I'd like to take you to bed.”

Q's blood runs cold.

He steps back.

Bond, who was just leaning in further, almost stumbles, and there's a flare of petty triumph in Q's stomach. But it fades quickly.

Now he just feels slightly broken.

“If that is all,” he says softly, lowering his gaze from Bond's look of surprise, “Then no.”

This is not what he wanted. This is not what he wanted at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond does something unexpected. Not that that is unexpected in and of itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I'm impatient, I'm uploading more chapters. Stand by. Merry Christmas, or whatever holiday it is you choose to celebrate.

Moneypenny takes one look at him, and whisks him away from where she was waiting at his desk. She pulls him into an empty interrogation room (the irony is not lost on him, despite everything), and sits him down.

“Q, what happened? Are you all right?”

He just looks at her. He knows how he looks. He can't find it in him to school his face into anything other than what he feels.

Broken.

He swallows, and then again, trying to find his voice. “He noticed me.”

His voice is woefully small.

There's a moment where Moneypenny, Eve, doesn't understand. And then she does. And her face falls.

“What did he do?” she asks.

Q looks past her, staring blankly at the wall. “He was going to kiss me. He said, he'd like to take me to bed.”

Eve frowns, sitting on the table with ease. He's still torn between wanting that grace and collection, and wanting to be himself.

“I thought...didn't you want him to notice you? Weren't these things supposed to be good?”

Q heaves a sigh that lifts his whole torso.

“It's... I don't want to be a conquest. I didn't want to be noticed that way. Which is entirely contrary of me, I know. But I suppose that seems to be my 'thing', lately. Wanting what I can't have.”

He just sits there, and Eve bites her lip as she looks at him. “Oh Q,” she says softly.

He doesn't say anything.

Eventually, Eve gets to her feet. “All right. I'm going to have a word with M, and get you a day off.”

Q opens his mouth to protest, but she fixes him with a stern look and pointed finger. “You're in need of one anyway. You'll go home, have a rest, and do something you enjoy. And that,” she warns, “Does not mean hacking into anywhere to do with work, or monitoring our systems, understand?”

He wilts. She smiles at him, though it's sad round the edges. “All right. You go finish up, I'll talk to M.”

He nods, rising to his feet and straightening his cardigan. Eve reaches up to straighten his tie. When she's done, she strokes her hands down his shoulders.

“You'll be okay,” she says. “He's not worth it.”

Q has to keep himself from crumpling, the weight of her words heavy on his shoulders. He gives her a smile that's a little more wet than he should like.

“I wish I could believe that.”

 

M seems to be either wrapped around Moneypenny's little finger, or is more aware of the situation than Q realised, because there's even a car waiting for him when he gets outside. A driver holds the door open for him with a respectful 'sir', and he slides inside.

It's warm and comfortable, and generally far too lush for such a short trip to his flat. He lets his head fall back against the headrest.

He's being utterly ridiculous. He's well aware of what Bond is like, read the file, etcetera, etcetera. So all this moping is just unnecessary. Entirely so.

He closes his eyes.

He wishes things were different. But he knows it's foolish.

The car inches it's way through the traffic, and Q almost asks if he can actually get out. But the car is warm, and it's getting cooler outside, so he stays.

His mind tries to wander to what Bond is doing now, or what he must be thinking of Q, but Q firmly reins himself back in. He won't do this to himself. He's determined.

By the time the car parks, he's figured that Bond has casually gone on his way, shrugging off a refusal that likely meant nothing much to him. Bond wouldn't be fussed about such a trifle. And it will likely never come up again. Things will be fine.

He sits up and reaches for the door handle, peering outside.

And freezes.

This is not his apartment building. Not even his street.

His hand snaps out to open the door, but it's locked.

Q curses mentally and lets his head knock gently against the window. He turns to look at the the driver.

The driver, who is turned with his arm slung over the back of the seat.

The driver, who is infuriatingly familiar.

“Double-oh-seven,” Q hisses. “What on earth do you think you're playing at?!”

Bond smiles at him. “Problem, Q?”

Q stares at Bond. The agent's finally lost his mind. That's got to be it. “Are you kidnapping me?”

Bond shrugs. The neat black driver's suit and cap suits him. Of bloody course. “I wouldn't say that. You have some time off. So do I.”

A cold feeling settles in Q's stomach. He stares at Bond, but this time it's more just blank than disbelieving. He lets his hand drop from the door handle and just sits there.

After a few moments of silence, Bond drops his gaze, looks away.

“I didn't think you'd want to talk to me, if I just approached you. And Moneypenny actually warned me away when I asked about you. So, this seemed... Well, it was either this, or waiting for you at your flat. I thought you might appreciate the lift.”

Q closes his eyes. “Bond,” he says evenly, “What do you want?”

Bond's voice is quiet, when he answers. “I've already told you that.”

Q's eyes flicker open, and now anger curls through his chest. “Then you have my response.”

Bond is examining him again, and Q puts all the defiance he has into his eyes. He is not going to stand for this.

Then Bond sighs, drops his head. “Perhaps I phrased it wrong.”

That...is suitably confusing. “Pardon?”

Bond props his chin up on his arm, still over the back of his seat. “I would greatly enjoy seeing you in your pyjamas.”

Q frowns, uncertain as to how the phrasing is changing things exactly. Unless... “Am I to take it that you meant your offer to be less...casual, than it first sounded?”

A small smile lights Bond's features a little. “You're cleverer than you look,” he muses.

Q snorts. “Better than looking cleverer than you are.”

Bond smiles broader, and Q turns the tables, examining Bond with a tilt of his head.

“So?” he inquires. “Exactly how casual are we talking?”

Bond becomes serious again, gaze direct. “I'm not sure. Though I'm sure you've read my file. You should be aware that my relationships don't exactly end well.”

Bond's voice has become softer throughout his talk, and Q thinks back to what he's read. He is quite aware. He sighs. “So. You're not looking at anything more than...a week?”

It's hurting. He could have this, have Bond, but he's not sure he could cope with anything less than everything he can demand. And he doubts Bond is prepared to give that, least of all to someone like him.

“Actually, I was thinking a little more long term?”

Q slowly lifts his head, disbelieving. Bond is still watching him, patient and waiting. Q considers, licking his lips.

“I don't understand,” he says softly. “I'm... I'm not the sort you usually seem to go for. I'm not a woman, to begin with.”

Bond's lips lift to one side. “I'm a little more open minded than people seem to think.”

His voice is wicked smooth, low, and Q feels a shiver down his spine, which doesn't go unnoticed, if the heat in Bond's eyes is anything to go by.

“Very well,” Q says, trying to keep his voice level again. How does Bond do this to him? “You still haven't addressed my main point, which is me, specifically.”

Bond purses his lips. “Does there have to be a reason?”

Q feels his eyes narrow, and Bond actually draws back a little, raising one gloved hand. 

“All right, all right. I didn't realise how touchy you could be, Q.”

Q's look turns into an outright glare, letting Bond know exactly how close he is to finding his own way out the car.

Bond sighs. “You're smart, which I approve of just generally. You're not easily intimidated, despite your stature and youth. You can easily take care of yourself, which is a point you quite rammed home today, with your impressive display at the range. And you don't get out much.”

Q frowns at him. “Meaning?”

Bond's look is solemn, layered with meaning. “Meaning you're less easy for my enemies to get to.”

Ah. Well yes. Q licks his lips, and doesn't miss the way Bond's gaze flickers to his mouth when he does so.

“Very well then,” says Q with a calm he doesn't quite feel. “How do we proceed?”

Bond's eyebrows shoot up, and he gives Q a cautious look. “Just like that?” he asks.

Q does his best to look affronted. “Certainly not! I do have standards, you know. I'm not about to just leap into bed with you. Or.” He glances around the spacious back seat of the car and tries not to give himself ideas. “Anywhere else.”

Bond's eyes flicker between amusement and arousal, and Q vaguely reconsiders his stance on the matter. It wouldn't be so terrible, really.

“How about we have some coffee at mine?” asks Bond.

Q allows his eyebrows to creep up his forehead.

Bond frowns a second, then almost outright laughs.

“Of course, of course, my mistake. I believe I have Earl Grey. That do for you?”

Q smiles. “I believe it will. Are you going to let me out of the car, now?”

Bond smiled, opening his own door and getting out.

Q can barely believe the turn around of events. And he'd have to apologise to Eve. She'd told him to do something to keep his mind off Bond. He was fairly certain his next few hours would be quite focused on Bond.

The door opens, and Q smiles out at the waiting agent.

“Q,” says Bond.

“Bond,” Q replies as he stepped out.

Bond smiles. “Please. It's James.”

Q smiles to himself. “James.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more. Takes a little time, I have to make some changes to the original document in order to upload it in a manner you can read comfortably.

The afternoon is surprisingly delightful. Bo- James is charming, relaxed, warm, and Q finds it dangerously easy to relax himself. James entertains him with stories about his missions, the truth and interesting details that are missing from the reports.

Q can sense that it's somewhat freeing for James, to be able to speak so freely, and to be understood. He understands. So he listens, makes sarcastic comments where appropriate, rolls his eyes at James' jokes, sips his Earl Grey.

Bond sits close, but not too close, not invading his space, and Q likes it. It means he can relax, enjoy the conversation without worrying about what happens next.

However, it all too soon descends into evening, and Q begins to wonder what will happen next. However, it's not until his stomach rumbles aloud that the conversation actually comes to a halt.

James lifts an eyebrow at him, amused.

Q coughs, politely as he can manage. “I do beg your pardon,” he says.

James smiles. “I think I should be begging yours. One shouldn't starve his guests. Care for some dinner, Q?”

Q inclines his head. “That would indeed be appreciated. May I inquire as to what is on offer?”

James spares a glance around his essentially bare flat. “I'm afraid I don't have much. Would you be opposed to take out?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” James claps his hands to his thighs and pushes to his feet.

Q is usually not a liar. But if anyone ever asks him, he's not watching James' arse as he moves away to the phone.

No matter how good it looks in those pants.

Good Lord.

James turns around with menus in hand, and Q flicks his gaze up, trying hard to not look like the naughty boy with his hand in the cookie jar. From James' expression, he doesn't quite manage it. Which, really, is why he'll never be a field agent.

James glides back over to the sofa, and the sheer amount of smug he's exuding just makes Q feel defiant, so it's a deal easier to pretend he's not affected. He takes the menus, flicking through them with a practiced eye.

Picking a menu would be a lot easier if James weren't sitting a deal closer than he had been. Q clears his throat.

“Do you have any preference, James?” He glances up.

James is watching him, and the predatory manner of his gaze makes shivers slide down Q's spine all over again. 

Just like that, James drops his gaze, and Q feels like some sort of pressure has been lifted from him. But then James leans forward to look at the menus himself. “Considering my last mission was in China, I'm a little tired of Chinese. Or anything from that way, really. How about some pizza?”

Q hands the menus back without his hand visibly trembling, keeping the pizza menu. “Fine with me. I wouldn't want you to develop an aversion to Chinese food.”

James gives a quiet snort of amusement, his fingers brushing Q's as he takes the menus. Then he's p and moving back across the room, and it's terribly inefficient, since he'll have to get up and go across again to order the pizza, but Q is decidedly thankful as it gives him a minute to just breathe.

James is absolutely going to destroy him, and he doesn't even seem to be trying that hard. It's insane how much the agent affects him. He's had lovers before, only a few, but enough. He's no blushing virgin, or easy lay. So why is he almost ready to just throw himself at James?

He's not. He's not going to. He's earned James' attention and respect, and now he's going to keep it.

Settling, Q manages to smile at James when he comes back, and is entirely pleased when James looks just a little confused.

“So, pizza. Are we sharing?”

James sits back down, thigh a warm line against Q's, and Q is relieved he's sorted himself out, otherwise he'd possibly have thrown in the towel by now. James eyes him, then shrugs.

“Personally, I feel I could eat an entire large myself at the moment. But I can share.” James' voice is entirely suggestive, and Q keeps his attention fixed on the menu, inspecting the choice with unseeing eyes. If James is trying to seduce him, he's going rather slowly.

“Well, that's what starters and sides are for,” he says airily. “I usually stick with just margherita myself, but we can go half and half.”

James leans over to look at the menu again, arm going round the back of the sofa round Q's shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world. “Hmm. Just margherita it is then. Starters?”

Q is resisting the urge to lean back and nestle into James' arm. He will not snuggle.

They eventually muddle through their order, and Q breathes a sigh of relief as James goes to order it. 

He's still in the very frustrating position of not knowing what to do. Does he respond to James' advances and allow things to progress to 'staying the night'? Or does he play a little more hard to get? Either way has pros and cons. Staying would just be wonderful, but possibly destroy what they've been building up, or loose him the respect and interest he's earned. Playing hard to get might be off putting for James though, considering how easy it is for him to normally charm people into his bed. So how to balance things?

James hangs up, and Q watches as James turns to look at him. When James stays over by the phone, casually leaning against the stand, Q tries to push down mild panic. So he quirks his eyebrow at James. “Problem?”

James is back to examining him. It's starting to become mildly annoying. Then he sighs. “You present me with a dilemma, Q.”

That...is not what he was expecting. “Oh?” he says weakly.

“Mmm,” agrees James. “One I'm not used to.”

Q swallows, wondering if this is where everything goes wrong. “Would you care to elaborate?”

James shifts his weight, looks down.

Q's heart sinks.

James looks back up, and offers a smile. “I'm not sure I know what to do with you, Q,” he says softly.

Q is somewhat taken aback. “I'm sorry?”

James rolls his shoulders back, face going flat as he determinedly doesn't wince, and Q has to bite his lip from going professional on James and demanding to see the shoulder.

“I usually try and avoid mixing work and play on my hone turf, to a degree, and I usually don't go for me, and I usually don't go into things with the plan of keeping it long term. So, it seems, I don't know how to start.”

Q stares at James, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. This is... It's nice to know they're on the same footing. And that alone gives him more confidence and determination than he's had all night. He smiles and stands, walking over to James, who watches him with a mixture of interest and guardedness with Q is quite certain will fade with time.

“How about this,” he suggests warmly. “We start with just a quiet date sharing pizza, and then I go home for the night. You take me out on more dates when we have time, and we build up to a time when it feels right to both of us?”

James considers, the wariness melting away under something warm and amused. “Got it all planned out already, Q?”

Q shakes his head, terribly aware of how close and warm James is. “Not in the slightest. I haven't the faintest idea what will actually happen.”

Pursing his lips, James shifts his weight off the table, straightening up and coming more into Q's personal space. “So things like you going home tonight would be open to negotiation?”

Q's breath stutters, and he knows James could feel it, but goodness gracious James is so close and his eyes are terribly blue. “Well, let's uh, not be too hasty. I believe I mentioned I wasn't just going to throw myself into your arms.”

He' invariably proud of himself for managing full and comprehensive sentences.

But then James leans in, sways close and he's going to kiss him, yes, but then no wait he's pulling back, what?

Q's swaying forwards without thinking, chasing James' mouth, eyes fixed on it. So he sees straight away when it curls into a smirk.

“You did say as much. Perhaps I should back off then.”

Q is going to make one of James' gadgets explode in his face, his next mission. He looks up to glare into James' eyes, and James' is laughing at him, the bastard. So Q takes the initiative.

He pushes forward, presses their mouths together, brings his hands up to grip James' shirt and keeps him in place. There's a moment of stillness, and Q barely has time to wonder if he's blown it before James' arms are wrapping about his waist, pulling him in and holding him tight. It's perfect.

Q licks his way into James' mouth, being as demanding as he knows to be, and James just opens to him with a muffled sound of surprise. Their bodies don't slot together perfectly, but it's more than good enough, James hot and firm against him. James slides a hand up his back, up into his hair, and grasps, tilting his head in order to fit their mouths more firmly together, making his back arch a little, and this is absolutely perfect-

The door bell rings.

Q pulls back, gasps for breath a little. James looks entirely put out, and it makes him laugh. Fortunately, that earns him a smile from James.

“Usually,” the agent grumbles, “I like how fast they are. Today, however...”

Q smiles and gently tugs free of James' arms, pleased at how James tries, albeit not hard, to keep him close. “Well then, James. Go get the food.”

James gives him a look, then mutters under his breath as he goes to fetch the pizza.

'Staying the night' up for renegotiation indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting there, slowly but surely.

Q honestly couldn't have told you whether the pizza was good or not, as, while they were sitting at James' table to eat, and opposite one another at that, James was slowly stroking his socked foot up and down Q's calf, and it was incredibly distracting. It wasn't helping that James was watching him, smirking and pleased with himself.

Well, it was helping a little. That smug look makes him feel defiant, and thus helps him remain where he is and not react so overtly to the footsy. He can't help but twitch occasionally, when the sensation becomes just a little too much, but it's manageable. And it's given time for him to resolve himself on the not staying over tonight issue.

Though, that becomes a little difficult to remember, once dinner is over and James has him in his arms again, kissing him so thoroughly.

Kissing James is genuinely wonderful, in a way that Q can't quite remember ever having. He's aware of where all that experience has come from, but it's not an issue right here and now.

But then James starts trying to manoeuvre him towards the bedroom.

Q pulls back, one hand on the nape of James' neck, the other on his shoulder. He plants his feet, tries to collect himself, but it's hard when James has merely moved to nibble at his throat.

“James,” he groans. “James, I thought I was going home tonight.”

James bites a little harder at his throat, and Q's fingers clench. 

“Stay,” James murmurs into this throat. “Stay with me tonight, Q.”

And oh, is that hard to resist. He can easily understand why so many have fallen for this man.

But.

Q pushes more firmly. “James. Stop.”

James halts instantly, slowly pulls back. His eyes are wary now, uncertain, and Q leans forward to press a chaste kiss to James' mouth.

James tries to make it more, but Q pulls back again. “That's enough for tonight, James. Would I be welcome to come over tomorrow night?”

James frowns as him, hands sliding lower to rest in the small of Q's back, warm and solid. “Tomorrow night?”

Q smiles at him. “Yes, James, tomorrow. I have work, and you have to rest. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't be amenable to dinner again.”

He feels comfortable, resting here in James' arms, and would dearly like to stay. But James is too geared towards sex, and just sex, so he'll wait, try to break him out of it a little.

James sighs, but Q can see him relenting. “You're going to absolutely test my patience, aren't you, Q?”

Q smirks a little. “Well, you know what they say. Turn about is fair play.”

He is extremely glad that the 'foreplay' buzzing round his mind didn't come out then. James would never have let it go.

James allows himself a little smile at that, and Q wants to taste it, but he also doesn't want to test James. Though from the way James is looking interested again, it's perhaps a little too late.

“James,” he says, voice soft.

Reluctantly, James lets his hands drop, and takes a step back. Q rewards him with a broad smile.

“You'll come by tomorrow, then?”

Q moves to get his coat, giving James an amused look. “I said as much, didn't I?”

James doesn't say anything, just watches him pull on his coat and pull his bag strap over his shoulder. It makes Q hesitate. He wants a goodbye kiss, but now he's unsure if he'll get it.

Of course, expert at reading body language that he is, James notices his hesitation and focuses, arching an eyebrow at Q. 

Q dithers. “Well, um, goodnight then. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He's about to turn and leave, feeling awkward and disappointed, when James strides across the room and sweeps him up into another heady kiss. Q is just about to put the brakes on again when James lets him go and steps back again.

Q feels somewhat dazed, almost swaying on the spot, and half expects James to pounce on him, but the agent merely smiles at him.

“Goodnight, Q,” he says, warm and gentle.

When Q leaves, it's with a much lighter heart and sense of peace and contentment than he's felt in a long time.

 

The next morning at the office, Eve is waiting for him, lounging against his desk in a way he's decided is inherent in field agents, even those who have taken desk jobs. And of course, she takes one look at him and knows exactly what's happened.

Well, not exactly.

She drags him off again, much to the amusement and curiosity of his interns, and he finds himself back in the empty interrogation room. Do these rooms get any use except for him?

Eve sits on the table and narrows her eyes at him. “Tell all,” she orders.

Q gives her wide and innocent eyes. He feels centred and relaxed, and it's making control of his own face a lot easier.

She half smiles, trying to glare at him. “Q. Come on, tell me.”

Q relents, and lets himself smile. “Bond kidnapped me,” he tells her calmly.

Her jaw drops. He's somewhat glad to know that not absolutely everything about him is monitored.

“He what?! Why didn't you call for backup?”

Q just waits, let her come to the realisation herself, and ah, there it is. She leans back.

“You're happy and smiling, so obviously, this led to better things than I thought Bond was capable of. What happened?”

Q shrugs, light and easy. “We talked. We had take-out. We made out a little. I went home.”

Watching Eve's face is somewhat amusing. She looks like she doesn't know what to think.

“You... You had a date?”

She sounds completely lost, disbelieving, and Q just smiles at her. “Indeed we did.”

Now she looks worried. “You didn't sleep with him?”

Q lets the little stirring of pride well up. “I did not. Not for lack of trying on his part. But when I said stop he stopped. And we have another date planned for when I finish work. You can stop looking so worried, Eve.”

The use of her first name softens her a bit, earns him a touch of a smile, but the worry is still there. “He's a dangerous man,” she warns him.

“Of course he is. He's a double-oh. But,” he says, and he's serious now, using his Quartermaster voice, “I am the Quartermaster. I can more than take care of myself. You don't need to worry about me, Eve. I'm all right.”

Eve is just looking at him with slightly wide eyes, and then she smiles broadly. “How silly of me,” she says playfully. “I had forgotten. I'm sorry, Q.” The playfulness fades, and he can see she's genuine.

He rises, and holds out his arms. Smiling, she hugs him. When she pulls back, she taps him on the chest. “You know, I think I've been going about this wrong. I should be warning Bond about you.”

Q raises his eyebrows as he follows her out and back towards the offices. “Oh?”

“Yep. Everyone knows how dangerous Bond is. But no one seems to realise how much more so you are.”

Q presses a hand to his chest. “Why Moneypenny, I'm flattered.”

“So you should be,” she tells him, striding away with her heels clacking on the floor, waving goodbye over her shoulder.

Generally pleased with himself and life, Q steps back into his department.

And halts as interns promptly scatter back to their allocated desks, hastily burying themselves in paperwork.

Q examines them all, lets them sweat, and then sweeps inside, the door smoothly sliding shut behind him. He makes sure to look at all of them, amused by the way they're avoiding his gaze and sweating, and then stops in front of one particular desk.

Michaels.

Q analysed his team within minutes of getting them, and knew exactly what they were like. And exactly who was the ringleader. Fortunately, they were a good natured lot, and more likely to make mischief than actual trouble.

Michaels slowly looked up from his work, with the air of someone desperately trying to maintain a semblance of innocence and confusion.

He was having about as much success as Q managed.

“Sir?” Michaels asked.

“Michaels,” Q replied, perfectly nonchalant. “Anything of interest to say to me?”

Michaels swallowed, glanced around the room, where interns were attempting to watch without giving the appearance of actually watching. “Uh, no sir?”

Q narrowed his eyes at him, lacing his fingers behind his back. Unlike the rest of MI6, his interns knew about the power he held at his fingertips, if not the entirety of it, and were thus a great deal easier to intimidate.

Michaels looked suitably cowed.

Q gave him a smile, and turned to his own station, prepared to settle down to work. 

He had a date with James Bond tonight. Life was good.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got the 11th chapter written, so posting as much of this as I can. Apologies about the chapter mix-up. Stupid internet.

His life is perhaps not so brilliant as he made it out to be.

What should have been a simple mission has gone disastrously wrong, and now, instead of flirting and maybe kissing James Bond, he's here trying to talk this mildly panicked, alarmingly not as well trained as he should be, agent through getting out of the mess he's in. He hasn't even had chance to let James know that he's not going to make it, and he has a sinking feeling that that won't go down well.

The agent is beginning to let the panic get to him again, and Q speaks clearly and reassuringly, fingers tapping away furiously as hunts down escape routes, weapons, enemies. His team are a frenzy around him, working just as hard to support him as he is the agent, and he can barely spare a thought to reward them somehow when this is through.

The agent's trying to move before he's given the word, and Q resorts to his military command training, snapping out orders. It works like a charm, and the agent settles. He'd thought the training somewhat unnecessary when he was getting it, but most agents have had military training, and respond well to a sergeant's parade ground voice, which of course Q has mastered. It's saved more than one agent's life, and now this one's.

There's a presence at the edge of the room, and while part of him wants to give it attention, another part is registering that no one is responding badly to the presence, and the agent needs him more.

After another half hour, the agent is out, charging through the streets of some down-town area in Hong Kong, and the urgency of the situation relaxes as his pursuers fall behind, and are eventually lost. Q doesn't let his guard down though, sweeping through camera after camera, monitoring everything. He doesn't rest until the agent is at a safe house with other agents, and the panting in his ear calms.

Finally, he has a chance to see who exactly has been hovering at the edge of the room, waiting patiently for so long.

It's James.

Q can only spare a moment to look up, he still has to finish, but it warms him through that James is here, and he manages to flash James a smile before turning back to his work.

The department slowly quiets, interns sitting back at their desks and letting out sighs of relief. Q's typing has slowed to something more relaxed, and it seems James' patience has worn a little thin.

Q glances up when James stops at his terminal, and pauses. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs.

James immediately shakes his head. “Don't be. I'm aware of what this job entails. Besides, I just watched you save a life. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The warm feeling spreads, and Q struggles not to outright beam, and give his nosy interns more to gossip about. “I should have let you know though. It wasn't-”

“Q.” James' voice is firm, and Q has no choice but to look up again, meet James' serious gaze. “You have nothing to apologise for. It could have easily been me that you helped just now. And I know I would be absolutely pissed if you paused to send someone a message while on mission with me. So, I'm not going to be angry or upset with you for not doing that so someone else. Besides which, that agent was clearly incompetent. Who sent him out there anyway?”

Q sighs, looking back down at his screen. “I don't know. I intend to file a report, anyway. This has caused far too great a stir, it shouldn't have gone this far. I'm going to have to monitor the situation all night.”

He doesn't even realise it until the words are out of his mouth, but it's true. He can't leave, not now. Which completely scuppers any plans for the evening at all.

Wonderful.

To his surprise, James shrugs and moves away. Squashing his disappointment, Q focuses on his laptop again. A goodbye would have been nice.

Then there's the sound of rolling, and Q looks up to find James pulling a chair over from one of the desks, spinning it round do he can sit on it, right next to Q's desk.

Q quirks an eyebrow at him. “Bond?” (They're at work, he's being professional.) “What are you...?”

James settles down, looking annoyingly neat and tidy in his suit, even wearing it as loose and relaxed as he is. “Well, it's not as if I've anywhere else to be. Still on leave, remember?”

Q fights down a smile, and quickly glances up at his interns. They all hastily look down, some coughing and covering their mouths.

Michaels doesn't look in the least bit remorseful.

 

An hour later, things have settled down completely, and Q is ready to go. It's half soothing and half driving him nuts to have James just sitting there, watching him with endless patience. It's no small things to be the absolute focus of those intense blue eyes.

Not that Q's given them much thought.

He finally closes his laptop, and James perks up, rising smoothly to his feet. “All done?”

Q rolls his shoulders. “For now. Doubtless, some new crisis will arise for me to deal with sooner or later.”

James smirks at him. “Hopefully later,” he murmurs.

Outwardly, Q doesn't let himself react, but he's furious. James is going to get him fired. Also, he couldn't have waited until they were some place Q could have pounced on him?!

Saying nothing, Q gives James a withering look, and walks round the opposite side of his terminal to the one James is standing at. James looks put out and confused, so Q counts it as a win.

They leave together, both ignoring the way Q's interns are side-eyeing them and doubtless coming up with all sorts of theories. They don't say anything as they trawl through the vast labyrinth that is HQ, or when they finally get to the car park where James' oh-so ostentatious car is waiting.

James unlocks it and holds the passenger side open for Q. Refusing to acknowledge him, Q slides in, refined and elegant. James walks round to the other door, opens it, and climbs in.

The second the door is shut, Q reaches across, grabs James by the collar of his stupid shirt, and drags him in for a kiss.

He's pleased to see that he's surprised James, if the moment of non-response is anything to go by, but then James is kissing back just as eagerly. It's uncomfortable, stretched across the gear lever and handbrake, but since Q's been so patient, waited so long, it's still quite excellent.

Eventually Q pulls back, preventing James from following with the hand still on his shirt. James pouts at him.

“They have security cameras in the car park, James. They'll wonder what's taking us so long.”

James glances around at that, pulls back. Q lets him go, and relaxes back into the seat. He won't admit it to James, but he actually rather likes this car. So far.

James shoots him a look, as if Q is some sort of fascinating code that he can't decipher, then focuses on driving.

Q feels like he's one up again. Excellent.


	6. Chapter 6

What Q doesn't count on, however, is exactly how comfy James' car is, or how tired he is, or how bad the traffic is. It is worryingly easy to just slip into sleep. Which he does.

When he wakes up, he feels warm and comfortable, and he really doesn't want to wake up. He knows he'll just have to get to work, and for once, he doesn't particularly want to. That is, until he realises exactly why he's feeling so comfortable.

There's the gentle sensation of someone petting his hair, smoothing it over his temple. And his pillow is rather warmer than from just his body heat. Q finally opens his eyes, and the world is blurry, his glasses gone. However, he can make out a living room that is not his own, but somewhat familiar, and the rounded edge of a knee in his vision.

Good God. He's asleep in James Bond's lap.

Q lifts his head, disturbing the blanket draped over him and James' hand petting his hair.

He fell asleep on James Bond. Double-oh-seven. One of MI6's most dangerous agents. Whom he had already stood up on a date. 

Wait. He'd fallen asleep in the car. Had...?

“Go back to sleep, Q. You obviously need it. Though I must admit, I don't think I've had anyone fall asleep on me like this before.”

James' voice is far too amused, but when Q tries to sit up, James merely presses him back down into his lap. Rather than trying to fight, (Q's a genius, and James is far stronger than he, he can think of few things more pointless) Q obediently lies back down, but turns his head to glower hazily up at James. Who has a book.

“Firstly, I do not need it. I don't even know why I fell asleep. Secondly, I did not fall asleep on you. I fell asleep in your car. So I admit to being at something of a loss as to how I ended up here.” Q wriggles his toes, and yes, his shoes are off as well. “Did you carry me in?”

James shrugs, putting down the book and stroking his hand over Q's hair, which is, actually, decidedly pleasant. “I did. You're alarmingly light. Do you eat at all? Or do you just live off Earl Grey?”

Q sighs. “I eat plenty, it just doesn't seem to make any difference. My I please sit up? And have my glasses back?”

James lifts his hands, smiles, and Q finally sits up, blanket pooling his lap. He takes the glasses and puts them on, confirming that yes, he is indeed in James' apartment. His coat, bag, and shoes are by the door, neat and tidy. Q shifts on the sofa, trying to adjust to his new position, and has to prevent a sound of surprise when James slings an arm round him and pull him into James' side. It's not quite comfy, and Q is struggling not to elbow James in the side. He feels decidedly awkward, and not sure how to proceed. Falling asleep has put him entirely off kilter.

He struggles are abruptly brought to a halt when James growls. 

“For goodness sake,” the agent mutters.

Q is about to say something, apologise, snark, something, but this doesn't quite happen as James pulls him round, manhandling him, and pulls him in for a kiss.

As always, the majority of Q's thoughts and plans go flying out the window, and he relaxes into it, pressing in eagerly. He barely feels it when James pulls the blanket from his lap, drops it off the edge of the sofa. But he most certainly does feel it when James bodily lifts him. He pulls back, gasping in a breath in order to protest, but then James merely settles him on his lap, legs to either side of James', and oh, yes, this is a marked improvement. Deciding to forgive James, he leans back in, finding the angle and warmth and pressure all much better now.

Q has the height advantage now, and there's a slight dominant thrill to it. But then James' hands press into his arse, and any ideas about having an advantage, letting alone pressing one, go out the window. He's reminded of just how strong James is as James kneads and squeezes, and then slowly rubs his hands up and down his thighs. Q allows himself to hum his approval into James' mouth, and that is apparently very much the right thing to do, as James bites at his lower lip, dragging it between his teeth. Q brings his hands up to rest on James' (very) nice chest, one sliding up, over his open collar. He cups James' jaw, tilts his head to get in deeper, slot them closer together, and James rolls his hips up into Q's.

Which, unfortunately, he must draw the line. For now. Q pulls back, eyes closed, and uses his hands on James' chest to stop him from following. He smiles as James half growls.

“Bloody hell, Q. Really?”

Q licks his lips and opens his eyes. Just in time to see James' gaze zero in on his mouth. He smiles. “Sorry, James.”

James gaze snaps back up again, hands still on Q's thighs, and he glowers. “No you're bloody well not. You're enjoying driving me insane. Admit it.”

Q quirks an eyebrow, though yes, he is entirely pleased with his affect on James. “I admit to nothing.” He's fairly sure his self-satisfied smirk is giving him away though.

James sighs, though he's settling down. “Why not? I want it, you want it, we're both consenting adults, what's the problem?”

Q's smile fades a little. He doesn't want to say. He doesn't want to be another of James' conquests, but he doesn't want to say it like that to James. He tries to think of something.

James seems to catch his hesitation, as he shifts, allowing Q to sit more properly in his lap, moving his hands to Q's waist, just a little less intimate. He switches from annoyed to concerned in seconds. “Q? What's wrong?”

Q sighs, lets his hands slide down James' chest a little. “Not...not wrong. I just... I feel terribly young, next to you, sometimes. And terribly naïve, though I know I'm not for someone of my age. You've had so many lovers, seduced so many people into your bed, and while I'm no blushing virgin, I can't help but...”

He fades off trying to put what he's feeling into words, words that won't hurt James, or make him seem small, or petty, or just plain young. To his surprise, James smiles at him, soft and amused. This is not the response he thought he's have. And he is not amused.

“I'm so glad you find my issues entertaining, Bond,” he says sharply, and tries to escape James' grip.

James' smile is promptly wiped from his face, and he holds Q down with ease. “No, no, I don't find it entertaining. I'm sorry.”

Appeased somewhat, Q allows himself to relax back into James' lap, though he's waiting for exactly how James is going to recover the situation. If he just leaves it, Q will be highly inclined to leave right there and then.

James takes a deep breath, and strokes his thumbs over Q's hips. “I'm sorry,” he says again, softer this time. “But you've just reminded me that you are young.”

Q twitches. He hasn't just sabotaged himself, has he?

“So, I'll make it clear to you. If I just wanted to leap into bed with you, and have that be that, I would have made more of an effort into convincing you to stay on that first night. Or, I would have given up on you, though with a degree more respect. I wouldn't have come into work to find you on a day where they don't need me there, and I wouldn't have just let you sleep. So. I'm not going to label this, or tell you how it's going to be, but, I can tell you, this is not just for the once. All right?”

Q stares down at James. This is exactly what he wanted to hear, though he maybe hadn't quite realised it. It almost sounds unrealistically good, but James is looking up at him, earnest and patient and waiting, and Q should know this, should know that if James considered him too much effort, or not worth it, he could easily have just gone and found someone else.

He shifts, settling down further into James' lap, and James arches an eyebrow at him.

Q just smiles. “Thank you, James.”

That makes James smirk. “Not at all. Now, may we pick up where we left off, or...?”

Q smiles broader.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting a little more adult rated now. A warning for this chapter, and the next, adult themes ahead.

James glares at the TV, and Q has to stop himself from being too pleased.

“I can't believe this,” James mutters. “Why am I being punished?”

Q smiles, dropping the remote to one side and making himself comfortable. He says nothing, merely focuses on the film. James will settle down soon enough.

After a while of quietly watching the film, Q starts to relax, enjoying the film and James' presence at his side, warm and reassuring. At least, until James shifts a little, and Q feels a gentle kiss being pressed against his throat. He smiles, but otherwise ignores it.

Apparently encouraged by not being pushed away, James does a little more, open mouthed kisses, lips brushing over his pulse point. Warmth is pooling low in Q's gut, and when James moves higher, he tilts his chin up to give him more access. He feels more than hears James' approving hum, and lets his eyes drift shut. He sucks in a breath when James bites lightly, teeth scraping over sensitive skin.

On the one hand, he possibly shouldn't be letting James get away with this. On the other hand, it feels so good, soft and slow, the heat building in his stomach is just exquisite. James is slowly working his way up to behind his ear, and Q shudders as James' hand slides over his thigh. James is so obviously expert at this, his thumb rubbing in small circles on the inside of Q's thigh, but Q can't find it in him to be annoyed. He's fine now, aware that James' focus is completely on him and the here and now, and he's enjoying it.

Q is firmly dragged back into the present as James' hand inches higher up his leg, closer and closer to where Q desperately wants it. The film is forgotten now, burbling on in the background, but Q is focused on the sound of his own breaths, the sound of James', the sound of cloth shifting. James moves his hand, and Q can't quite help the tiny noise of protest he makes when the move is away from where it was going. But instead, James is lifting him, pulling him sideways across his lap, other hand going round his back. His mouth is still firmly attached to Q's throat, more intense now, hot and wet with the constant scrape of teeth and swipe of tongue.

Q wants. He wants to give James whatever he wants, wants what he's been denying himself. He's tested James more than enough, it's high time he rewarded him.

James is stroking his thigh again, long runs of his hand up and down, and Q is pliant, letting him.

Following along the line of his jaw, James eventually comes to Q's mouth and kisses him. It's not like the earlier kisses. This one is long and slow and intense, close and hot. Q brings his hand up to rest on James' shoulder, the other trapped between them, but not uncomfortably so. The hand on his thigh comes up to burrow under his cardigan and shirt.

Q whimpers at the first brush of fingers over his back, and James bites at his lower lip, inspiring more noises. He feels fevered, wound up, but at the same time, relaxed and just aroused. James trails his fingers up his spine, and Q melts against him, moaning and arching into the touch, their mouths parting.

James chuckles, low and pleased. “You're perfect, Q. Just beautiful." He kisses Q on the chin, working down his throat again, and runs the blunt edges of his nails up and down Q‘s back.

Q writhes, gasping. Every time James' nails catch on his skin it makes him jerk, whimper, and James is merciless. His mouth is on the hollow of Q's throat now, licking into it, fitting his mouth to it. Q hasn't even realised, but his fingers are twisted it James' shirt, desperately seeking something to ground him.

He finally manages to find his voice. “James..." It's pathetic, barely a whisper, but James catches it, lifts his head.

“Q?" he asks softly. His fingers slow down, just teasing now, little shivers of sensation up his spine.

“James,” he murmurs again. “Stop teasing.”

James momentarily halts his movements, and Q feels a small dark flare of pride that he's managed to surprise the agent yet again, and then the world is moving.

Q ends up flat on his back on the sofa, head being cradled on the arm, James on top of him, and he doesn't mind at all. The TV is still on, but they're not paying it any mind at all as James comes in for another kiss. Q's expecting it hotter and faster now, more akin to the kisses from earlier, but he doesn't give James enough credit. It's still just as slow, just as toe-curlingly good as they have been so far. 

James' hand is still under his shirt, but at his side now, running up and over his stomach, and Q curls his own arms over James' shoulders, holding him in close. The angle of his head on the armrest is a little uncomfortable, but it's drowned out as James dips his fingers below the waistband of his trousers. And pull straight back out again.

Q's completely trapped and caged under James, but he feels safe, warm, protected. And also bloody frustrated. “James!”

James laughs again, shifting so that when Q pushes his hips up, trying to find some friction, he doesn't find any. “You know what they say, Q. Turnabout is fair play.”

Abruptly aware that he's giving James the upper hand, Q relaxes, calming himself. He lets his breathing even out, and watches as James' smug expression wavers. 

James forever underestimates him.

“You're quite right. Perhaps I should hold out a little longer. Turnabout for all those carefully crafted weapons and pieces of equipment of mine that you lost, hmm?” He keeps his voice light, though inwardly he's begging James to just man up, crash down upon him, take all that he wants to offer. He's had enough of games, though he won't relinquish his advantage.

James stares down at him, and Q wonders if he's pushed it too far. Then James smiles, pleased and amused, and a little something else that Q can't quite place.

“People really underestimate you, don't they, Q?”

The way he draws out the single letter of what is now his name makes Q shiver, but he just smiles back at James, a little pleased that James has cottoned on. “Of course. How else would I deal with all these manly macho agents swaggering round? It's best to be underestimated.”

James lowers himself down again, lips hovering just above Q's, and Q's just dying to close the distance, but James speaks before he can.

“I guess I'll have to keep a closer eye on you than I thought. But somehow,” he comes in but withdraws at the last second, making Q almost whine in frustration, “I don't think I'll find it difficult at all.”

He closes the distance completely, sealing his mouth over whatever retort Q might have come up with, and lets his body drop against Q's.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These notes will get more interesting when we come to chapters I've actually written recently. And can explain to you the feels and interesting foibles that came with each of them. Again, mature themes. Bond's getting closer to what he wants~

James finally undoes the belt buckle, and Q gets to working on his shirt buttons. All he can feel, hear, see, taste, smell, is James. He may have mentioned it before, but James is an entirely excellent kisser.

He finally gets all the buttons undone, pulling James shirt out of his trousers, and takes the opportunity to slide his hands up James' bare chest. It is a very nice chest. He's moving them up to James shoulders when the fingers on his left hand feel ...something. He pauses, and James hesitates as well, fingers pausing where they were undoing Q's zipper.

James pulls back, face unreadable, and Q's gaze flicks to where his fingers are resting.

It's a scar. Messy and puckered, not healed properly at all. And Q knows exactly where it's from. 

James is still, waiting for Q's reaction.

Q leans forward and licks over the scar.

James jerks and groans, head bowing as Q works at it, tracing the edges with the tip of his tongue, setting his teeth round it and biting, and James is back to trying to get into his trousers again. There's another scar higher up on James' shoulder, a straight line, and Q pays some attention to that as well, though his levels of concentration take a significant dive when James finally shoves a hand into his underwear. He bites down, harder than he means to, and James shudders.

James wraps his hand around him, and Q tips his head back, leaning it on the arm rest and pushing his hips up, back arching. James promptly pounces on the opportunity to attack his throat, biting over his adams apple and beginning to stroke.

“Shit!” Q's alarmingly close to climax, and he doesn't want to go there alone, doesn't want to leave James behind, so he gathers what wits he can, and pushes his hands down. Undoing James' belt is many times more difficult than it should be (especially for a genius), but James helpfully slows his strokes, making them long and firm and just toe-curling. His mouth is still working over Q's throat, and really he must have some sort of fetish about that. Then James sucks, hard, and Q momentarily forgets everything. 

James laughs against his skin, the bastard, and Q almost growls, finally managing to defeat James' trousers and getting his own hand in. Of course, James has silk boxers, or at least, that's what it feels like.

James blindly seeks his mouth again, and they're kissing as they jerk each other off, James stroking faster now that Q doesn't need to do something tricky, and it almost burns, they don't have lube or anything, but it's entirely too good at the same time, and all too soon Q is gasping at James' mouth, eyes screwed shut as he's almost, almost, almost there...

He's distantly aware he's making ridiculous, desperate noises as he comes, but he can't help it, it's good, so good, and James is jerking and grunting above him. They both collapse, a panting, messy heap, and Q is quite positive his cardigan is ruined.

At least Eve will stop making disgusted faces at him for wearing it now.

James is heavy, but pleasantly so, and he can feel James' heartbeat thudding against his chest, slightly slower than his own. James' cheek is pressed against his, and it's maybe slightly uncomfortable, but it is entirely worth it.

“Hmm," James murmurs into his ear. “I had been beginning to wonder if I was ever going to get anywhere with you.”

Q instantly stiffens.

“No. No no no, that was meant to a compliment, hush.” James rubs up and down his arms, presses kisses to his ear, and Q let's out a long breath, letting himself relax.

“I thought you were meant to be a smooth talker,” he mutters.

James laughs softly. “I usually am. I need to step up my game with you.”

“Or at the very least, stop putting your foot in your mouth,” Q agrees. He's beginning to settle now, warm and safely caged by James.

“I should make it up to you.” James' voice is low and gentle in his ear, and Q slides his hand up James arm to rest on his shoulder.

“Oh?" he asks. “Feel compelled do you?” Q knows exactly where this is going, can feel James' intent, and decides to head it off at the pass. “You can buy me dinner then. Make a proper date of it.”

Sure enough, James ceases nuzzling and kissing at his ear. “What?”

“Somewhere nice.” Q is rather enjoying their game again, especially now he's regained the advantage. “It doesn't have to be too expensive, but I imagine you'll find somewhere classy enough that suits your tastes and budget.”

James has pulled back and is staring down at him with a mixture of incredulity and shock on his features.

Q lifts an eyebrow at him.

James shakes his head, seeming to smile despite himself. “You're really going to keep me on my toes, aren't you?”

“Absolutely,” agrees Q. “You be a fool to think anything else.”

James smiles broader, coming in for another kiss. “Indeed.”

Q lets him for a while, then pulls back, grimacing. “You've ruined my cardy,” he says, hiding his amusement under a layer of accusation.

James snorts. “First of all, I believe it was more of a group effort, and that you're as much to blame as I. Second of all, I should be awarded, in that case. Thing's a bloody nightmare.” He's propping himself up on his arms, looking down their bodies, and Q is distinctly aware of their state.

He wrinkles his nose. “Damn. I don't have a change of clothes.”

James' look shifts into something suggestive, and he opens his mouth, but Q cuts him off.

“No, James.”

James sighs, rolling his eyes, but obediently gets up off the sofa, tucking himself back into his boxers. “Not staying the night then?” he asks.

Q can sense there's something more there, and regards James as he sits up tidies himself. “Perhaps,” he allows, and has to scowl as James' expression curls up into a smirk. “But only if you promise to behave yourself. And if you go to my apartment and get me my pyjamas.”

James' eyebrows lift at that. “You actually have pyjamas? I thought that was a joke.”

Q shrugs. “I get cold at night. And they're comfortable. And something of a safeguard in this case.” He levels James with a look, and James lifts his hands.

“Fine, fine, I promise. No ...'playing', unless it's on your terms. You've made it quite clear.”

The last seems somewhat pointed to Q, and he frowns, playful mood evaporating.

James sighs and lowers himself easily into a crouch in front of Q. “Listen,” he says softly. “I may sound like it's annoying me, and it is somewhat frustrating, but I'm pleased you have the confidence and trust in me to actually set limits, and trust that I'll keep to them. Many others would just crumble under the slightest bit of pressure and give in, or break it off all together. You're strength in this regard is something that I strongly admire, and like. So, stop doubting yourself, and me.”

He leans in for a quick peck, and then just goes 'up', showing no stiffness in the knees or anything. Q wishes he could do that. He sighs himself.

“Is it always going to be like this?” he murmurs. “Brilliant ups and then abrupt downs?” It's exhausting, he doesn't add.

James smiles, absently undoing his shirt cuff. “We're still getting settled. It might be for a while, but things will work out after a while...”

He fades off, and Q frowns at him. James is staring down at him, fingers still on his cuff.

“James? What is it?”

James almost starts, blinks down at his wrist, goes back to undoing it. “Nothing.”

It's quiet, and obviously something. Q debates pushing the matter. He stands, and takes James' wrist in his hands. James lets his other hand drop, and just watches as Q undoes the tiny buttons for him.

“You can tell me, you know,” Q says quietly. “I won't say you can trust me, because that's entirely up to you, of course, but still...”

He can tell James is studying him, even as he undoes the last button and James offers up his other wrist. He finishes in silence, and then finally chances a look up at James face.

Their eyes meet, and Q is struck by just how blue James' eyes are. They're the brightest bit of colour on him, and, in Q's opinion, one of his best features. To the extent where he momentarily forgets what they're discussing.

James is really having a detrimental affect on his mental faculties. It's worrying him that the idea is not as distressing as it really should be.

James drops his gaze, breathes deep. “It's beginning to sink in,” he says softly.

Q tilts his head a little, still intent on James. “What is?”

James shrugs, gaze flickering around the room. “That this has the potential to be long term.”

Q doesn't frown, or react in any other way. He's very aware of James' file, lists of women that James has loved and lost, sometimes after a matter of hours. He hadn't quite followed what that would mean for him and James, though.

He lifts his hand, gently touches his fingertips to James cheek. “James,” he says, quiet but firm, “I am not going anywhere. Not only am I well looked after, but I can most assuredly take care of myself as well. So long as you take proper care of yourself as well, there is no reason that this cannot develop into something more, something real, long lasting. All right?”

James is meeting his eyes again, unwavering. Q has a moment to wonder if he's made a mistake, but then James is sliding his arms around his waist, pulling him in tight and close, and kissing him as if all Q's speech is for nothing, that he might die tomorrow and this is the last chance he'll ever get. Q kisses back just as fervently, cupping James' jaw and trying to memorise every last little bit he can.

Because for all his words, he might just loose James tomorrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the chapter where I finally figure out that they automatically label the chapters, and that by putting 'Chapter X', all I'm doing is repeating it. Getting used to AO3!

Q absently wipes at the mirror. James has had his shower, leaving Q to have something to eat, and has just left to retrieve a list of things from Q's apartment (Q decided to be nice and give him both keys and all the passcodes), so Q has the very fancy flat to himself. He stares at his reflection in the mirror.

Wait, what the-?! Is that-?! 

Q stares in horror. A hickey. A bloody huge great hickey, sitting right above his shirt collar. And it is blatantly obviously a hickey. Not something he can just pass off as an accidental bruise or something or something he can hide. It's big and dark and how on earth did that not hurt?!

He touches it gently and hisses. No wonder James had looked so bloody smug before he left. That's going to be there for days. 

Q glowers at his reflection as he starts pulling his cardigan off. James will pay for this. He doesn't seem to realise exactly how much of his life Q has influence over. Well, he will. Undressed, Q steps into the shower, almost humming in bliss when the water comes on, hot and at exactly the right temperature. Wretched double-ohs and their luxurious lifestyles. At least he gets to enjoy them through James now.

Q examines the bottles on the rack on the side, squinting through wet eyelashes to try and figure out which he should use. Honestly, they're ridiculous. He has one type. Why exactly does James need five? James has less hair than he does. He eventually selects one, and begins washing his hair. He's just relaxing and beginning to properly enjoy himself when he's rudely interrupted.

“Now there's something I wouldn't mind seeing on a more regular basis.”

Q just manages to suppress a squeak, then impresses himself further by not falling over when he spins round. James is lounging in the doorway, smirking to himself, the insufferable prat, and Q has to resist the urge to cover himself.

“Double-oh-seven! What on earth do you think you're doing?!”

James grins. “Enjoying the view. Problem?”

Q glares at him, though he's sure it's not terribly effective. He looks skinny enough without being soaking wet. “Very funny. I'd prefer to be left to shower in peace, if you don't mind.”

James frowns, settles in against the doorway. “I wasn't being funny, actually. Self esteem issues there, Q?”

Q sighs, turning around to face into the spray again. “We can't all be sculpted demi-gods such as yourself, James. I'm sure you can live with it.”

He almost jumps out his skin when James' voice is suddenly a lot closer.

“Different strokes, Q. Personally, I think you're quite perfect.”

Q looks back over his shoulder and finds James standing just outside the shower, hands nonchalantly in his trouser pockets, gaze roaming in a manner that is quite positively lewd. Q narrows his eyes at him. “James,” he says, trying to convey a warning in his tone. If James tries to actually come into the shower with him, there will be trouble.

James rolls his shoulders. “Just looking, darling. I said I'd behave myself, and so I will.”

Q snorts. “Yes, such perfect behaviour.”

James' look turns challenging, and Q suddenly regrets his words. James steps right up to the glass walls of the shower, puts on arm above his head, forearm pressed to the glass, and leans in close. It feels entirely intimate, and Q's almost struggling to breathe in the close, wet atmosphere.

“Oh, but I have been behaving, Q. Trust me, if I misbehaved, you would know.”

His voice has dropped down low, and even in the heat of the shower, Q feels shivers running down his spine. Then he recalls something and musters up a fresh glare.

“Oh?” he asks archly. “Then care to explain to me why I have a bloody big bruise on my neck? Where everyone will be able to see it come work tomorrow?”

James blinks, air of danger and sex dropping, and he pulls back a little. “Pardon?”

“This!” Q steps up to the glass, tilts his head on one side so James can see. He knows the second James sees it because his expression of surprise and confusion instantly transforms into one of pleased satisfaction. And then alarm. 

“Ah. Right. That.”

“Yes, James. That.”

James finally seems to realise how much trouble he's in. He takes a step back from the shower. “Well, considering you're using up all my hot water, we should perhaps discuss this after you've finished. I'll leave you in peace.”

“Precisely what I wanted in the first place,” Q mutters, and watches James back out the room. Satisfied, he turns to finish off. James has very kindly (ha) left his pyjamas on a stool, so Q can change straight into them. It serves as a reminder. James is trying.

When he emerges, hair damp and all over the place (James saw him in the shower, he can cope), James is casually lounging on the sofa, now dressed only in loose jogging bottoms and a plain grey sleeveless t-shirt. It looks annoyingly good on him, as does everything.

James looks up as he enters, and gives him a slow once over. Q doesn't know what James is looking at. His pyjamas are quite standard, a chequered shirt and bottoms affair. Red. And not oversized either, he doesn't understand people's penchant for that. He resists the urge to fiddle with the shirt cuffs. He's not used to being looked at the way James is looking at him: like he's something good, something he wants.

James casually pushes up off the sofa, smiling at Q. “Ready for bed?” he asks. It's simple, no suggestive tone or playfulness, and Q decides that he can let James off for the hickey. For now at least. Curling up in bed with James sound about right, actually. He's warm and comfortable in his pyjamas, clean, and starting to feel somewhat heavy.

“Quite,” he says, but hovers uncertainly. He doesn't quite know the etiquette for this particular situation, and he's in James' apartment, and he doesn't know where the bedroom is...

James walks round the sofa and over to one of the doors. He opens it, and then holds it open, giving Q an expectant look. 

...Right.

He's never been so conscious of walking before. He feels entirely too aware of himself as he pads past James (and if James' physical presence is always going to have this much effect on him now, he's in severe trouble in the office) and into the bedroom.

It's spacious, as on would expect, but as quietly barren as the rest of James' apartment. It's just a resting place, not a home. But it's still very much James. Who exactly needs a bed that big?

Q halts at the foot of it, gazing down at what appear to be 100% Egyptian Cotton sheets (or something ridiculous and high class like that anyway). He doesn't know which side James prefers. And he really needs to start a list of things he doesn't know so he can work on knowing them, a Quartermaster of MI6 shouldn't be so misinformed, honestly, it's quite-

“Q.”

James voice just behind him makes him jump. Somewhat guiltily, he turns around. But James is smiling at him.

“Q,” he says again, voice soft and warm, “Relax. I'm not going to pounce on you.”

He knows that. “I know that. I do. I'm just...not certain where I fit, here.” He hadn't realised his worries could be put so succinctly. 

Then James' hands are warm on his arms, even through his pyjamas, and James pulls him in for a kiss. It's lovely and chaste, and Q feels himself unwind.

James breaks this kiss after a moment, but doesn't pull away, stays close and intimate. “You fit,” he murmurs, words ghosting over Q's lips, “Right here. All right?”

Q nods, just a slight movement. He's quite distracted. Ah. It seems to be a proximity issue. The closer James is, the more...

James is kissing him again.

After a while, James pulls back again, and this time all the way. “Come on. Bed.” He walks round to the right side and slides in underneath the covers, reaching across to lift the covers on the left side. Q obediently walks round himself, deposits his glasses on the bedside table, and slightly less elegantly, gets into the bed. It's just as luxuriously comfortable as he'd suspected, but he doesn't know (how tiresome) how to actually get comfortable. He's tensing up again. He almost flinches at the click of James turning the lights off.

James sighs beside him, and reaches out, scooping him up with one arm. Q almost (almost! Not actually) squeaks, but then allows James to manoeuvre him into position. James tucks him in close along his front, spooning him, and wrapping an arm round his stomach. There's a puff of breath in his ear, and James is resting his cheek against his still damp hair.

“There. Better?”

Q considers for a moment. James is warm and solid behind him, firm and anchoring him to reality. He can feel James heart beat against his back, slow and steady, and can already feel himself beginning to relax. He smiles.

“Yes, very much so. Good night, James.”

The grip around his waist tightens in an almost hug. “Good night, Quartermaster.”

Q smiles a little broader, and let's himself drift off to sleep, feeling utterly safe.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wahey, we're up to date! I'm currently working on the next chapter, so you'll have to wait a little bit for the next part. I hope at least some have gotten this far, and that some of you want to see how this progresses. Thank you.

When Q wakes, he feels almost uncomfortably warm. But fortunately, it's 'almost', so he's perfectly content to just drift in the delicious cocoon of warmth he's in. His alarm hasn't gone off yet, so he's perfectly entitled to do so. And so he does.

That is until there's a fond hum from behind him.

“Really now, Q.”

Q blinks awake, and abruptly becomes highly aware of his current situation. He rolls over slightly to find James propped up on one arm, gazing down at him with an amused expression.

Q vaguely wants to hit him. Morning light is streaming in the windows, and outlining James in what was a very ironic halo. Whereas Q is perfectly aware that his hair would be an absolute nest of knots.

Wait, morning light? This was England. And autumn. You didn't get morning light until at least...

Q shoots upright, sending James over backwards. “Bond! What time is it?!”

James blinks at him from where he'd been flattened on the bed. “Half nine?” he offers, hands up in a 'please don't hurt me' manner.

Q swears loudly as he flings back the sheets. “Bloody hell, James! I'm supposed to be in work for half six!”

He leaves James lying in the bed and fumbles his way through getting dressed in clean clothes, sorting out his hair into vaguely reasonable order, and then halts. He doesn't have a toothbrush. Or food.

He turns, and finds James watching him, still lounging in the bed. He glowers.

“You couldn't have woken me?”

James shrugs one shoulder, careless. “It didn't occur to me. Sorry.”

Bastard's not sorry at all. And Q is fully aware that his collar doesn't come high enough to cover the damn hickey. “Might I borrow a toothbrush please, James? And trouble you for some breakfast?”

James' eyes narrow at how polite and sweet he's making his voice, and Q hides his satisfaction. Let James worry. He can be perfectly polite now, especially since he needs things from James, but oh, will double-oh-seven pay for this later.

James grudgingly levers himself out of bed, and Q reluctantly checks his phone.

Of course. Numerous missed calls, and increasingly desperate messages from Michaels.

Wait...

His phone creaks as his hand tightens around it. His phone wasn't on silent. It never is, if he's not at work. It's too important. Meaning, James turned it off.

James is in for it now.

...But it can wait. He fires off a quick text message with some nonsense for an excuse, then wanders into the kitchen.

For all his complaints, this is a sight he can live with. James is yawning as he pours some hot water into mugs, and Q can't help but stare. It's moments like this when he's very aware of how predatory James is. At work, it's refined, knife sharp, but here and now, it's like watching a lion, all tawny gold, lazy power, utterly dangerous, but for the moment, relaxed.

And if he keeps along this line of thought, James will almost certainly pick up on it and he'll be even later for work than he already is.

James glances up as he puts the kettle back on it's stand thing (shush, not his area of expertise, that's for interns), and gives an apologetic smile.

“Sorry Q. It didn't occur to me that you have to be in at certain times. I'm used to just wandering in and out, or being summoned. Should have known it'd be different for you.”

Q comes to stand next to James at the counter, leaning against it. “Most people have to be in at a set time. You double-ohs are spoiled. But it's not too bad. Not like they can get rid of me. Even if they wanted to.”

James snorts. “And people say that I'm arrogant.”

“Oh you are,” Q reassures him. “Perfectly so. I, on the other hand, am self aware.”

James smirks at him, and Q takes the proffered mug. He shouldn't be surprised that it's Earl Grey, but he can't help but shoot James a grateful smile before taking a sip. It's not perfect, but it's not bad either.

James watches him drink over the top of his own mug, and Q wants to fidget under that gaze. He won't, of course, he's not going to give James the satisfaction. He vaguely wonders what James is drinking.

Then he finds out.

James puts his mug on the counter with a rather determined movement, and Q blinks at him. James gently takes his own mug from him, puts it on the counter as well, and he hasn't said a word, Q is slightly alarmed, what is James-

James kisses him. Just leans in and presses their lips together, and oh dear, it's turning off his higher brain functions again. How vexing.

And ah, James has been drinking coffee. Tut, heathen. But it tastes right with James. Q lets himself melt into the kiss. James wraps his arms about his waist, slotting their bodies a little more firmly together, and oh yes, that's quite perfect. It's slow and warm and oh so good. Q wants every morning to be like this. He won't say as much to James, Heavens, they're not even a week into this, but he really thinks it would be most excellent.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and Q vaguely thinks he should stop, answer it maybe, go to work, but he thinks this will likely be rare enough as it is, and he's not going to ruin it.

James eventually pulls back, but only so far. They're still pressed together, and Q's comfortable. James smiles at him, warm and private.

“Thank you.”

It's a murmur, and Q is momentarily distracted by the puff of air against his mouth. “For what?”

James holds him a little tighter, puts their foreheads tomorrow. “You promised me a tomorrow. I don't get that many. I'm glad to have this one.”

Q is brought up short. When he'd so firmly told James 'tomorrow', he hadn't been thinking about it, just thrown it out there, careless. He's thought about James' women before, but he hadn't realised that aspect of it. He's glad he did actually manage to deliver.

He puts his hands on James' shoulders, strokes down James' upper arms. “Believe me,” he murmurs back. “It was my pleasure. And you have my tomorrows for as long as I can give them.”

That's alarmingly close to a proposal, but James doesn't pull away. If he catches how permanent that sounds, he doesn't make any move to show it. He merely presses in for another kiss, so this time, Q can taste his smile.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! Saw the last showing of Skyfall last night, and it finally put me in the mood to finish this chapter. I also read through what I've got so far, so I'll be editing some earlier chapters. For anyone wondering, Michaels is actually in the film! He's the black guy with the glasses at a desk on Q's left. Of course, I've made his name and character up, but it's nice to put a face to a name sometimes. Q's revenge begins! Any suggestions of songs Q can use would be most appreciated. What would really get on Bond's nerves?

“Q.”

Q arches his eyebrow. And clasps his hands tight together on his lap. Oh dear. “M?”

M leans back in his very fancy, high tech chair. He steeples his fingers, peering over them at Q with a dangerously knowing look. Q has to resist the urge to put a hand up to his neck, where the hickey is clearly visible.

“This thing with Bond. Hardly professional.”

Q lifts his other brow to join the first, and casually glances back at the door. Where Eve Moneypenny is dutifully typing away at her laptop (one he made specially for her, of course). He might not be the poster boy for professional work relationships, but M can hardly throw stones without some glass becoming endangered.

M doesn't so much as twitch, though the aura of disapproval fades.

“Never the less. It seems that, so far, it hasn't had any affect on your work. Rather, it seems that Bond is actually working to return equipment. Expensive equipment. So, as long as you can both keep it from interfering with things, I shall overlook it.”

Q is far too professional to let loose the sigh of relief that echoes in his mind, but it's there none the less. He tilts his head in polite inquiry. “May I ask if you've had this talk with Bond?”

M doesn't bother hiding the way his shoulders sag. He gives Q an icy look. “No.”

“Are you going to?”

M glowers. “Don't push it, Q.”

Q decides that M is being quite charitable enough, letting things...proceed, as it were, and thus takes pity on him. “I can remind him myself, if you prefer.”

M looks amused and enlightened. “Indeed? Very well then. I believe that's all.”

Q obediently rises, inclining his head. He exits the office, giving Moneypenny a quick smile and trying not to blush as she smirks at him, and sallies forth.

 

Entering his department, he has to prevent himself from rolling his eyes as once again, a suspicious hush fall over his interns. Really, this is MI6. You think they'd learn, at the very least. Good at computers, yes. Good at espionage. Not so much.

He narrows in on Michaels, who practically twitches as if he can feel the weight of his gaze.

He stalks forward, enjoying the way his interns give him nervous smiles. They know he likes him, but they're also aware that he is their boss, still. Especially today, when he's on edge enough already. He approaches Michaels.

“What is it this time, Michaels?”

Michaels whips round in his chair. “Sir?”

Q sighs, giving Michaels a quelling look. “Just tell me. I'd rather know. And it's hardly like I can do anything about you gossiping. Just so long as I'm aware of what the current hot topic is. I might like to get involved sometimes.”

Michaels looks startled, but then frowns, assessing. “And how do I know we won't get into trouble for it, sir?”

Q meets his gaze, and Michaels' bravado promptly vanishes. “You can't,” Q informs him. “However, you could always trust me. Hardly going to cut off my own supply of information though, am I?”

Michaels blinks. He glances around the room, and Q patiently waits.

Michaels squares his shoulders. “Yes sir. How was your meeting with M?”

Ah. Well, that was blatantly obvious. Q smiles pleasantly. “It was perfectly fine, and appreciatively brief, thank you. And yes, it was concerning myself and Bond, and how it isn't an issue, so long as it remains so.”

Q enjoys the look on Michaels' face. He's been completely floored. It's almost as good as putting James off kilter. Ah, tis the little things in life.

“Was there anything else?” Q inquires sweetly.

Michaels' shakes his head. “No sir. Just, um...we'll keep you updated?”

Q smirks. “Excellent. Thank you. Now, back to work.” The last holds a hint of warning, and there's a sudden increase in noise as the interns return to work.

He saunters up to station. He has agents to watch over. He runs a brief systems check, makes sure all's well. Since Bond isn't in the field, all the agents are where they're supposed to be, or thereabouts. And they've all checked in, how delightful of them. Even the rest of the double-ohs. He wonders how he can (delicately) point this out to Bond.

Q vaguely wonders what the rest of the double-ohs are like. He's not met any of them, but he can imagine that they give off the same predatory vibe that Bond does. It's what makes a double-oh. But none of the rest of them seem to get into quite as much trouble. Hence why he hasn't met them yet.

As Q ponders the other agents, he becomes aware of what are most decidedly giggles behind him. He turns and discovers the source.

A quite frazzled looking young man is juggling with a huge bouquet of flowers and his keycard, clearly trying to get in the door, and clearly failing miserably.

Q decides to take pity on him. He nods at an intern near the door (Turner), and she promptly leaps up to help the gentleman with the flowers. Said gentleman practically stumbles in, stuttering his thanks, and turns wide eyes on Q.

“Sir.”

Q arches an eyebrow. “They been through security?”

“Of course, sir.”

Q nods. “Very well. Who's the lucky one?”

The young man quails. “Uh...you, sir.”

Q blinks, and has to refrain from twitching when the collective gaze of the interns turns upon him. As if he weren't getting attention enough already. “Me?”

“Yes sir.”

 

Q sighs, pressing his lips together. It seems the warning from M was somewhat more necessary than he had realised. The young man was still hovering near the door, and Q gestured impatiently at him. “Well then, bring them here.”

The bouquet is huge, filled with a variety of flowers. He'll have to sit down and figure out the meanings later, knowing Bond and his penchant for being clever. There are a number of roses in amongst the other flowers. Of course. James is an ostentatious...twat. The man holds them gingerly out to him. Q doesn't take them, but plucks the card from amongst the petals. The writing is elegant cursive. 

Dinner tonight? I owe you, don't I?

The cocky bastard hasn't even signed his name. Really now.

He can see Michaels grinning at him from his desk.

The young man is still holding out the flowers. Q gives him a dry look. “Name?”

The man blinks. “Sir?”

There are titters from his interns. Q is less and less impressed. “I'm asking for your name.”

“Oh!” Q wonders how on earth this poor boy got a job here in the first place, and exactly how long he'll last. “Swan, sir.”

“Swan,” says Q, attempting to retain his patience. “What exactly do you intend me do with these flowers?”

Swan blinks at him, eyes flicking every which way. “Sir?”

Q resists the urge to ask if 'sir' is the only word Swan knows. He's about to suggest as much when Michaels steps forward, grinning at Q. “I'll get you a vase to put these in, sir,” he says smoothly, and Swan looks about to keel over with relief.

“Thank you, Michaels. It's nice to be reminded that my people at least have a lick of common sense.”

He doesn't miss the way Michaels practically glows with pride at the roundabout compliment, and turns back to his main desk with the big screen, dismissing Michaels and Swan from his thoughts.

Really. Flowers at the workplace? And here he thought James might at least have an inkling as to how to be professional about this. Damn him.

He tucks the note away into his shirt pocket, and considers his keyboard. There aren't any pressing missions on at the moment, so he can spare a few moments. He stretches his fingers out and begins to type.

Michaels returns shortly with quite a nice vase and the flowers arranged in it. He smiles as he carefully places it on Q's desk. “Vase is compliments of Miss Moneypenny, sir. She says you may keep it.”

“Thank you, Michaels,” Q murmurs absently, pushing his glasses up his nose. He cocks his head. “Michaels?”

Michaels pauses, caught turning back to his desk. “Sir?”

Q taps a finger next to the laptop touchpad. “What would you say is a song that gets on people's nerves very quickly, and very intensely?”

For a moment, Michaels looks bewildered, but then his gaze flicks down to Q's throat, and he grins before actually putting some thought into it. “There are a couple of things that spring to mind, sir. I could get a broader opinion from the others?”

Most excellent. There are days when Q actually appreciates his interns. “That would be most thoughtful of you. If you could get me results in a few minutes, please.”

Michaels looks positively thrilled. “Yes sir.”

Good. But first, Q decides to see how James copes without any electricity in his apartment. It's going to be a long day for a certain double-oh agent.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Q played was 'Friday' by Rebecca Black. Can you just imagine James' reaction to it? Ouch. Enjoy!

To James' credit, it's three hours before he breaks.

“Q.”

Q tries not to smirk and resists the urge to reach up to his ear. He should tell James not to use the link when he's working and James isn't on mission, but he's feeling generous. “James.”

“Please. Make it stop.”

Q bites his lip in order not to laugh. “Something the matter, James?”

“I have been tortured before, and it wasn't anywhere near as painful as this. Tell me what you want, Q, and I'll do it. Anything. Just please.”

Q's fingers hover over the keys. Something's up. This is James Bond. He never gives in this easily. So. Q considers. And then taps in a couple of quick commands.

Ah ha.

“Mm, yes,” he hums. “I'm sure it's absolutely terrible in that coffee shop. Nice try, James.”

There's a moment of silence from the other end. “I didn't think you were allowed to do that.”

Q doesn't roll his eyes. There's no point, James can't see him. “But of course, using MI6 resources to make your life a misery is completely allowed. Speaking of what is allowed and what is not, James?”

He can practically feel James sitting up, and wishes he was unprofessional enough to actually hack into the CCTV cameras to watch him. “Yes Q?”

“I had a little chat with M today.”

“Ah. If this is you telling me that your career is more important to you than our relationship, then-”

There's a yelp from the other end, and Q stops the exceptionally loud blast of 'Friday' he sent to James' earpiece. The idiot.

“Bloody hell, Q! What was that?!”

“James Bond, I thought you were supposed to be at least mildly intelligent. Did you really think I would be so much of a ...a...well, I can't think of anything suitably villainous to use, but really, did you think I would be so cruel as to torture you and then try and break up with you? He wanted to remind me of the need for professionalism, and that he wasn't bothered about us so long as it didn't affect our work.”

He's entirely pissed off. And hurt. And depressed. James is a complete idiot. Complete. Idiot. Dammit.

“Ah.”

Ladies and gentleman, thinks Q, James Bond, the soul of brevity and wit. “That is, of course, before some flowers arrived. Hardly encouraging M to turn a blind eye, is it, now?”

“I suppose not.” If anything, Bond sounds a little sheepish. “Did you like them though?”

Q glances at them, sighs. “I'm not a woman to be wooed, James. I'd better appreciate gifts that have some value, or at least, won't die on me in a matter of days.”

He shoots a sharp look over his shoulder, his interns growing a little too quiet for his liking. He catches a couple of them watching him before they hastily return to their work, and makes sure to glare at the lot of them for a few moments.

He hears James heave a sigh of his own. “I'm sorry, Q. I don't seem able to do right by you at all. I am trying.”

Q melts a little inside. James sounds more exhausted than he has on any mission. “I know, James,” he says softly. “I know, and I do appreciate it. So, you're going to take me to dinner tonight?”

James hums. “Would you like me to let you know what restaurant I'm planning to take you to, just in case?”

Q reaches our to brush his fingers over the petals of one of the roses. “Just let me know whether I should dress up or not. But it should be fine. We'll muddle through.”

“I'm not used to 'muddling through' these kind of things.”

Q smiles. “Yes, rather a novel experience, isn't it?”

“You're more than worth it. Dress up, I'll come get you.”

“All right. See you then.”

 

Q strokes his tie, smoothing it down over his chest. Eve grins at him over his shoulder in the mirror. She's the one who's picked out the tie. And the shirt. And the suit. For some reason, she doesn't seem to trust him in matters of clothing.

“You look good,” she tells him.

He watches his face fall in the mirror. “I'm hoping for something a little more than 'good', Eve.”

She laughs, and hugs him from the back. “Oh honey. Don't worry, I meant 'good', as in Bond's going to have a hard time not jumping you. I didn't realise that you could actually manage hot.”

Q glowers at her. “Thank you, Miss Moneypenny.”

She laughs again, bright and loving, and he wishes he could have been a touch more sensible and fallen for her. But they are firmly in the 'just friends' department, and he'll admit, he actually likes it that way.

Eve finally releases him, pats his arms. “Come on, don't want to keep Prince Charming waiting now, do we?”

Q turns away from the almost unrecognisable image in the mirror of what seems to be a self possessed young man in a sharp suit. “He's coming to pick me up, so really, I'm the Prince being kept waiting.”

“Sure you are, Q,” she tells him warmly. “And if he keeps you waiting too long, I'll just threaten to shoot him again.” She saunters into the living room, and Q wishes he knew how women managed to look so damn collected in such high heels.

“I still can't believe how the two of you can be so cavalier about that,” he says as he follows her.

She shrugs. “He started it.”

“Actually,” says a smooth voice from the doorway, “I believe you started it when you shot me.”

They both turn, both opening their mouths to say something, but Q doesn't manage it. He's of course aware of how James Bond looks, and how good. But what he didn't realise was that Bond wasn't actually trying.

“To be fair, I wasn't actually aiming for you. I didn't intend to start anything.”

Q is infinitely grateful Eve is here to cover him. She is the very best of friends.

James smirks, supposedly at Eve, but his eyes are on Q. “Excuses excuses. Good evening, Quartermaster.”

“Good evening,” Q replies, utterly relieved it sounds normal enough. 

Eve glances between them with a pleased, amused look. “Well then,” she announces, “I think that's my cue to depart. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen.”

Q sends her a grateful smile, which she answers with a blinding one of her own. James cordially offers her her coat, and helps her into it. Q's pleased to note that the interaction is perfectly amicable.

Eve leaves with a cheery wave, and it's just him and James left in the room.

Oh.

James smirks and stalks towards him. Of course, Q can't back away. So he's left standing there as James closes in. James halts, just inside his personal space, and Q feels his heart rate pick up. He's giving himself away, and he knows it. 

James smiles. “Hello,” he says, voice low and sensuous.

Q shivers, but collects himself enough to respond. “Hello.”

The kiss is soft, just a brush of lips, but it's enough to set all Q's nerves ablaze. He has to close his eyes, even as James breaks contact, and just breathe. There's a tentative touch on his arms, and when he doesn't pull away, James curls his fingers round them, stroking down. 

“I love this,” James murmurs, so close Q can feel his breath against his lips. “How you react to me. Q.”

Blindly, Q leans forward a little, and is rewarded by another kiss. This one is a little longer, more open mouthed. Perfect.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this has taken so long, but I've had a lot of uni work and now have stress related issues that need sorting. But hey, here it is, their dinner date at last! Sorry it's kind of short :/
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to Yamotocat on Tumblr, who did a very lovely fanart for my piece, here: http://yamatocat.tumblr.com/post/44164634471/better-resolution-its-easy-to-slip-into-that#notes
> 
> For anyone curious, the music playing is Nature Boy by Nat King Cole, which can be found here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Iq0XJCJ1Srw

It takes them a little while to actually get out the door, James doesn't seem able to keep his hands to himself. It's not necessarily groping, though his rear end does get it's fair share of attention, it's more that James just keeps rubbing at his arm, or tracing his thumb over his cheek, or smoothing his hand down his back. It's lovely, but very distracting, and Q keeps going in for kisses.

But eventually they do get out the door, and James, gentleman that he is, hold the door of a brand new Aston Martin open for him. The seats are decidedly comfy, and Q settles back to enjoy the ride.

“So, James, where are we going?”

James smirks over the steering wheel, not taking his eyes off the wheel. “Come come now Q, you don't want to ruin the surprise now, do you?”

Q smiles, feeling a little swell of pleasure. And promptly tries to squash it. For Heaven's sake, he's not a teenage girl. “Really James, it's just a meal at a restaurant. How surprising can it be?”

James doesn't answer, but his smile widens, as he carries on driving.

They eventually arrive...somewhere. There's very few other cars around, in fact, Q can see hardly any, and there's not many buildings either. It's dark, and Q suppresses a shiver, as it's quite cold. But then a coat drops around his shoulders, and he smiles at James. Then he looks around again. “Not exactly where one would expect to find a high class restaurant, James.”

“True enough. Come on.”

James holds his hand out, and Q gives him a look before taking it. But it's nice. James' hand is warm and firm in his, and James laces their fingers together. Q just about surrenders. Apparently he is a teenage girl.

James leads him along, and Q finally registers that he can hear water. He can't see anything yet though, so he can't place himself. A frission of professional paranoia makes him hold James' hand the tighter, but he's not really worried. He'd rather subtly (if he does say so himself) 'frisked' James during their kissing earlier, and was perfectly aware of the Walther tucked in the small of James' back. He also has his phone and a GPS and radio himself, so he's fine.

Finally they come through the buildings, and Q lets himself be surprised.

They're next to the Thames, and across the way the bank is filled with dots of light, reflecting in rippling patterns on the water. A boat is chugging quietly past, and it's quite lovely.

James has paused, is smiling at him in the dim light, and Q allows himself to smile back. “Well, all right, I'm pleasantly surprised. I thought we were having dinner though?”

James' smile tips up into a smirk, and he tugs on Q's hand, leading him along the bank. “We are.”

One of the buildings they've walked past opens up into a factory floor, but rather than the usual factory settings, there is instead a table with two chairs, candles, an old record player, and a stove set up to one side.

This is quite possibly the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for Q, and he's momentarily overcome. James is staring at him, the edges of his smile fading with apparently worry, and Q manages to squeeze his hand. “James,” he murmurs, “You are such a gentleman. This is ridiculous. But perfect.”

James smile, and it's broad and genuine and really, it's quite unfair how attractive this man is, so it's a good thing Q's perfectly entitled to kiss him. Which he does.

Of course, his plan backfires to a degree when James drops his hand to wrap his arms around him, and the kiss gets rather more involved than he initially planned, but, details. He has to make himself pull back though, a little breathless but ultimately pleased. “Dinner, James, dinner,” he hums.

James steals another kiss, but obediently pulls back. He walks over to the table, pulls back a chair. “Quartermaster?”

Q smiles and strolls over, allowing James to push the chair in underneath him. It's fortunate that he was brought up in something like high society, and is aware of how to do it without awkward scooting. Not that he'll tell James that. Likely, he doesn't have to, James will already have noticed. Observant so and so.

Once he's seated, James goes over to the record player. He fiddles with it a bit (and damn, now Q's curious, he'll have to get himself a record player to toy with), and piano music begins to swell.

“There was a boy... A very strange, enchanted boy...”

It's a crooning male voice, scratchy from the recording, and very definitely not from Moulin Rouge. He arches an eyebrow at James, who smirks. “Nat King Cole,” he informs Q. “Somehow, this song makes me think of you.”

Q thanks the flickering candle light for disguising his flush, and watches as James goes over to a bag hidden next to the stove. The stove is suitably close to offer some warmth, and Q admires James' forethought on the matter.

When James straightens, he's holding a couple of plastic containers, and Q snorts. “Oh yes, very high class,” he remarks, amused.

James shrugs, pulling the top off one, and all at once he's forgiven. It smells divine.

James can read him far too well, as he doesn't respond to Q's comment with anything but a satisfied smirk, and comes over to pour the contents of the container onto his plate. It's pasta, and Q is mildly impressed that it's still hot enough to steam.

He watches in silence as James efficiently sets the meal out, producing a bottle of fine red wine from an ice cooler than Q missed before and pouring them both a glass each. And then he sits, looking decidedly pleased with himself. “Well?”

Q inclines his head. “I am suitably impressed. Do you make such an effort often, or am I a special case?”

He regrets it the second it's out of his mouth. Leave him to ruin such an excellent evening. But James merely smiles, lifting his wine glass in a toast. “Just for you, Q. Just for you.”

The soft words, along with the music, creates a pleasant warmth in his stomach, and Q lifts his own glass in an answering toast.

He does not believe the evening can get any better.


End file.
